


The Past Is a Grotesque Animal

by Satan In Purple (purple_satan)



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Post Season 4, Threesome - F/M/M, i just fucking love lincoln lee really, please don't put this boy on a bus writers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_satan/pseuds/Satan%20In%20Purple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I play the unraveler, the parhelion--</i> life moves on Over There too, cases get solved, and Lincoln tries to find his place in their world. Post S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past Is a Grotesque Animal

**Author's Note:**

> heh, this was supposed to my attempt for lincoln lee to please not be put on a bus, as well as a retcon/rewrite for a lot of my misgivings with S4 (and maybe a mirror to the halo series, idk). but then scarlie barged in with his awesome surly ways and made it turn into mostly about lincoln reflecting on his relationships. 
> 
> i'm oddly happy with where it went.

Lincoln waits.

He waits during cases, on the subway and while driving, in elevators and during meetings, on 'Liv’s couch and in her bed. He waits for a sign, a way for the universe(s) to tell him he’s about to make a monumentally bad decision, except he has a vague feeling that sign is never going to come.

He always did have a problem with lingering a little too long and he’s afraid he’s doing it again over here. It’s what made things awkward with Julie after Robert died and his final decision to leave Hartford. Then he saw it again with Peter and Olivia and he _knew_ because he felt the same pang in his chest of loved one’s moving on without him, him losing his heart’s home when Olivia didn’t come to the diner anymore and they stopped asking him out to eat, when Peter stopped inviting him over to the house for beers while Astrid and Olivia had their occasional girl’s night out, and the nights they did hang out he didn't end up in their bed. It's the pang in his chest when they smiled in tandem and him knowing it was no longer meant for him.

In almost a blink of an eye it all just _stopped,_ as if he was the one who stopped existing. And hell, he supposes that in a way he doesn’t.

Olivia only has a hazy recollection of who he is now because she chose the other set of memories she was given, and while he doesn’t particularly blame her for picking the rosier-colored timeline, it’s still reaching the borderline of ridiculously awkward now that Peter remembers their relationship for the both of them. He gets a glimpse of how Peter saw him during those days they were together when he retells stories to her, and while he can see the that spark in Peter's eyes he remembers so well, he also sees his face wistful apologetic when he doesn’t have the information to explain to Olivia what they just referenced.

(It's the fact Peter ultimately decided not to tell this Olivia about just how close they all used to be unless she _expressly_ asked, and though he agreed with Peter's decision because he thought Olivia eventually would _\--but she didn't--_ it ended up being the final determining factor that snapped the fragile threads connecting the three of them together.)

It's not that Lincoln defines himself by his relationships-- he's got a pretty good grip on his self-identity especially after sizing up his double, _thank you very much,_ just that now that version of him is gone, he's not entirely sure how he fits into the scheme of things in their little lab tucked away at Harvard, and maybe he just doesn't now. Perhaps he's playing the interloper and is one day going to wonder why he didn't go back to Hartford to a life also forever gone or ask for a transfer somewhere else entirely.

Or something along those lines. He's not even entirely sure what he wants other than this beginning of a migraine he gets every time to go away.

So Lincoln makes a decision, hoping it’s the right one because that sign never came, except in reality he might be skewing things a bit in his favor.

  
\- 

It might have been a sign that was just a little late when he meets Charlie Francis two days after the bridge closes with unshed tears in his eyes. The first thing Charlie does is immediately throw him up against the nearest wall, having deemed that Lincoln has gotten too cozy with _their_ ‘Liv.

 _Kid, you need to fucking go back to where you came from,_ Charlie growls only a scant amount of inches away from his face and he can see his quiet rage at Lincoln's intrusion to his life, even though it’s a moot point. The bridge is closed and Lincoln is a part of their Fringe Division, an occupant of Olivia’s apartment and now an obvious thorn in Charlie’s side. _I don't know what you are playing at but we don’t need you here, we needed_ him.

(However, this particular challenge posed does not deter him.)

Lincoln holds up his head and manages giving Charlie a somewhat dignified look despite the fact his glasses-- _yes, the ones Peter picked out for him--_ are askew and an arm is pressing forcefully against his windpipe. The first time he sees Charlie Francis smile runs a chill down his spine because its followed by him being punched twice, once in the gut and the other in the shoulder, before ‘Liv puts a soothing hand on Charlie’s shoulder and then an arm around his waist, a silent plea for him to stop.

Lincoln’s doubled over on the ground out of breath, resting against the wall for support as he feels critical parts of his anatomy radiating white hot pain and black spots flare in his vision. They're angry, and he gets it. He was in everybody's face (Olivia) angry when Robert died and they tried to reassign him. And yet, through it all Lincoln knows if he tried he could see their tears silently flowing because he'd be doing the same too, his born out of anger and hers from shame, before Charlie lets ‘Liv pull him away.

He supposes it could have gone worse, _the three of them are armed after all,_ and he has a feeling he's about as resilient to a bullet to the chest (or head) as his late double.

  
\- 

(Later he takes stock in her bathroom mirror, categorizing the various bruises he’s accumulated since joining this side. Some are older from hard work running around in the field, a few even fading from his last late-night encounter, but some are also just beginning to blossom purplish-blue on his neck and shoulder he pokes experimentally. He's had worse happen and has learned to sport his bruises with pride underneath his suit jackets.

‘Liv just shrugs silently from the doorway as if she’s not particularly shocked by Charlie’s behavior towards him. He’s thankful she doesn’t even attempt to coddle him tonight past giving him a place to stay.)

Life moves on, cases get solved.

  
\- 

Thankfully, Lincoln does not get punched again, whatever Charlie was feeling has worked its way through him and has evened out into something else more ominous that keeps the three of them perpetually on edge. With that said, Lincoln still lets out a startled yelp when _Olivia_ Olivia turns up unexpectedly in Fringe HQ, her gaze meeting his eyes for the first time in ages feeling like the equivalent of someone knocking the wind out of him yet again. She just smiles tightly his way and asks Alt-Astrid to speak to the Secretary about an urgent matter, and the brief encounter leaves him staring wide-eyed in her wake.

Olivia ends up occasionally visiting them despite the fact the bridge is gone (a perk of her cortexiphan trials), mainly since she’s the only multi-dimensional way to liaise they have now. Her arrivals are without pattern or forewarning, but usually aren't a good omen to all and are never to him.

Sometimes it’s really important when she shows up, sometimes it’s just her chatting with Broyles or asking for information regarding a case they already handled. And sometimes he thinks she just shows up for the hell of it to torture him with a somber Peter in tow, asking to speak to the Secretary. Every time she asks to see him too, but Lincoln quickly finds the most menial of task work to do on those days and every time ‘Liv just gives him an all-too-knowing smile, trotting off with a grin to find Charlie so he can handle their guests. It’s a small mercy among many ‘Liv has chosen to bestow on him, despite the fact he really hasn’t earned it.

Her mercy, that is.

Charlie sure as hell isn’t budging for him any time soon, and that’s okay, it really _really_ is _as long as he not being punched-_ \- because he needs the contrast between both of them, just like he needed both Robert and Julie, Peter and Olivia in his life at one time. He’s all about contrast and Charlie tempers the two of them, their rock, their quiet strength in the face of adversity.

Lincoln thought he was stoic, but he clearly has nothing on this guy who barely cracks a smile for months in Lincoln’s presence, despite the barrage of playful banter from ‘Liv. Charlie just quietly keeps going, takes his shots and shoots things, keeping them sane when things go bugfuck nuts (which scarily happens on a regular basis, including the reappearance of Gus on this side, something Lincoln was none too pleased to relive), and eventually after months of stony silence ends up barking out something that might be construed as constructive criticism towards Lincoln one day.

(He thinks he might have heard a hallelujah chorus then as the gates of communication with Charlie Francis mercifully, finally opened.)

Those are the good days, when Charlie manages to not glare at him too forcefully and ‘Liv’s smile actually meets her eyes instead of the watery one she used to have pasted on her face 24-7. Or the days when the three of them are so tired their weariness runs bone deep and they get a few hours to recoup, and _sometimes_ Charlie even extends the invitation for him to get drinks with them.

Those are the best days, actually, the one's when they drink together. Because 'Liv is apparently making up for years of not drinking and can't hold her liquor for shit but is still a riot while trying to do so. It's only then watching her free of the problems plaguing them for a few hours does he think he sees a smile creeping at the corners of Charlie's mouth.

Then again, its not just Liv's antics, he realizes. Charlie also watches him intently, eyes boring into his in a completely different way than before, a whole new thrill up his spine because it feels like he's been caught in the crosshairs of a rifle as well.

And like clockwork life moves on, cases get solved.

  
\- 

(But then there’s also days where he’s reminded their universe is beginning to fall apart again without the bridge, and because of that people die, lots of people. There are also days ‘Liv has flashes of a timeline with her holding a baby, _her_ Lincoln cradling her in his arms and whispering things he never got to say here that crumble her façade she’s been holding up so well. Charlie has no timeline to compare with, but he knows all about the stories of his double’s death and on the days shapeshifters come into conversation he goes stock still, his mouth becoming a grim line.

Watching them makes him feel like he knows far too much and far too little, and always _always_ feels just a little too left out of the loop.)

Lucky for him life still continues to move on, cases still continue to get solved.

  
\- 

Time begins mending things for the three of them, melding them into one cohesive unit, albeit still with its own peculiarities and surprises that 'Liv and Charlie come to find (happily) unexpected.

It’s a gravestone they all went and visited silently and the way Charlie held ‘Liv’s trembling body against him, first every couple days, then weekly, then monthly, ‘Liv’s eyes no longer rimmed red when she returns and her arms around both of them. It’s the way ‘Liv never ends up telling him to move out and instead sometimes curls up on the couch in a way that eventually ends up with her head on his shoulder, pressed against his side, and how they never talk about it. It's the way Charlie slowly and begrudgingly accepts Lincoln for who he is, not what he _could have been_ for them all.

It's Broyles deciding to promote him to team lead because of his own accomplishments and everyone congratulating him, rather than hating him for eventually becoming what their Lincoln Lee _was_. It’s eventually finding the open arms of acceptance from both Olivia and Charlie through hard work and long hours chipping away at the walls they created, an acceptance so great that they decide to share with him a gift they’ve only shared with one other person together when they invite him into their bed. And it's the tears it brings to his eyes when Charlie is deep inside of him and he can still taste ‘Liv's wetness in his mouth when he kisses her, her fingers around his cock. It's the way they whisper to him how much they need him to stay, and it’s only then as he shudders before he comes in thick spurts on Liv’s belly and hands, that he finally realizes he _is_ loved here and he _is_ home.

This Olivia would have never chosen Peter over her life with Lincoln and Charlie, and that’s why he chose her. Now he can silently thank this strange universe that they decided to choose him too.


End file.
